Déjà Vu
by Len'sMind
Summary: Relationships between countries are hard and painful; love and friendship never come easy when you have citizens to appease. Sometimes though, nations decide to take a leap of faith into these human relationships. When they do? They're stricken with a strange sense of déjà vu... (Multiple pairings, see inside for more details).
1. Chapter 1

_Note: There is a very set structure to this story which shall be fully explained at the start of the next chapter. Just know that chapters ALWAYS come in pairs. In the meantime, enjoy the first part! ^.^_

_This story will contain numerous pairings including: Usuk/Fruk, Spamano, GerIta, PruHun, and others which I've yet to finish deciding. But assume those three are the main ones. _

* * *

Chapter One:

It was clear by now that no one was even trying to make the meeting progress; especially when America believed he was rightfully in charge. Really, he wasn't even hosting, Monaco was! But, of course, that meant nothing to the wannabe hero.

"Come on, guys! China could totally build us a giant spaceship!"

"Why do I have to?"

"Dude, have you ever read labels? Everything comes from your house!"

"Building a spaceship is way out of our price range."

France sighed and rubbed his eyes. They were getting nowhere and taking too long doing it. "Monaco, _ma chère, _don't actually calculate the expenses for this idiot's daydreams," he warned her. She seemed much too busy arguing with America on the 'necessity of a price range' to have heard him.

"Can we not just get something to eat? I'll make pasta!"

"Pasta isn't necessary, Italy. Don't think you can skip out on the meeting."

"Germanyyy!"

"No. Sit still and… Hey! Stop drawing on the papers!"

These scenes repeated themselves every meeting; it was actually growing tiresome for France to sit back and watch them all. The only difference each time was who America ended up trying to put down (and the answer was usually the host country). France's eyes swept across the table, confirming that everything was happening as expected. Greece was snoring, and Turkey was trying to draw a moustache on him. Japan was drawing manga, which some of his siblings were either helping with (or, in South Korea's case, reading). Austria was desperately trying to ignore Hungary and Prussia's foot fight as they sat either side of him – and, naturally, ended up failing and kicking both the culprits in the shins. Spain kept shuffling his chair closer and closer to Romano; the Italian, as always, kicked him away each time with a new swear word.

Just the same scenes repeating.

Then there was the guy sitting beside him. That's where France's eyes fell next; to the British man sitting straight up in his chair and making notes on the papers in front of him.

"_Angleterre?_" France asked, leaning towards him.

England frowned in response. "What is it, frog?"

"Your little _Amérique _is getting carried away again," France smirked, propping his chin up on his hand. "So what on earth could you be taking notes on? How to improve your fashion? Oh! Am I the model?"

Finally, the green eyes moved away from the page to glower at him. "Like hell I'd take fashion ideas from you!"

France felt his smirk drop a little bit. _That wasn't the part you were meant to deny_. He didn't say that thought out loud, and instead settled for "You used to when you were younger?"

England grimaced.

"Ah, you were so cute back then! Running after me shouting 'France! Do my hair like yours!'"

"Stop talking, you damned frog!"

And, as it always did, their argument began to build. No one paid much attention; France and England's verbal tennis match slipped in alongside the rest of the chaos that was the world meeting. Latvia's terrified blubbing when Russia kept squashing him, Russia terrified screams as Belarus appeared by his side, the odd shout of defiance from Sealand for being forgotten, Demark ordering the other Nordics around, Australia warning Seborga to stay away from Wy. It was just the same.

Finally, Monaco decided enough was enough and called for the meeting to end.

Twenty minutes later, when America decided enough was enough and called out louder that the meeting was ending, almost every country jumped out of their seats and hurried out. France and England were still stood yelling at one another, ignoring the rush of nations passing by them. As much as some of the words that they threw at one another were slightly painful, every moment fighting England was thrilling for France. It was just like the good old days – minus the bloodshed, of course.

"Yo England! You planning on leaving any time soon?"

America's voice silenced England before he rebuked France for the 'poison cooking' comment, and he immediately glanced over to the American who approached. Folding his arms, England snorted. "Of course," he told America. "Why would I want to spend any more time than necessary around someone who reeks of cheese?"

"At least I don't eat fish covered in grease!" France yelled.

"Don't you dare put fish and chips down like that!"

France purposefully ignored America as he tapped his foot impatiently – somewhat smug that England was too caught up in the fight once again to notice that the idiot was waiting. Sadly, America wasn't one to wait patiently.

"So… you wanna go grab a McDonalds or what?"

England's head immediately snapped around again. France could have sworn he saw a blush cross the Brit's face.

"Huh? Now?" England frowned, though it was faker than his usual ones. "Why do I have to go with you?"

"When I tried to go this morning they were all talking in French," America laughed. "I couldn't understand a word!"

England sighed loudly and turned to put his papers in his briefcase. "Why do I have to struggle through the frog's language for you? Canada speaks it fluently!"

"Yeah, but Canada's not as much fun as you!"

Glancing back over his shoulder – his face now definitely turning a little red – England narrowed his eyebrows. "Since when I have been fun?"

"Since you get all hot and bothered when people don't understand your French on the first try!"

_I'm right here, you know._ France felt his expression drop as the two apparently completely disregarded his existence.

"Fine, I'll go!" England finally said with a sigh. America let out a cheer and started hurrying towards the door, beckoning the Brit to follow him.

As England passed him, France turned and watched them head out. "You promised me a drink later, England!" he shouted after the pair. England turned and gave a half-hearted wave of confirmation – though something told France he probably wouldn't remember about it later.

_Urgh, déjà vu._

Letting out a dramatic sigh, France sat back down in his chair and drummed his fingers against the table. Being a country was such a pain; the repetitive meetings, the line of arrogant and usually ignorant bosses, and the constant inability to live and do things a normal human would. Things like go to school, get a job, maybe fall in love. Well, nothing stopped them from falling in love – they had feelings, after all – but it wasn't exactly easy to be in love with another country. Even less easy to be in love with a human.

France groaned as a chill ran down his spine.

"France?"

He glanced across the room at where Monaco still stood – wiping down the whiteboard that America had scribbled nonsense all over. She had paused momentarily to look over in concern. "Is there something you wanted to ask about the meeting?"

Of course, Monaco wasn't exactly the type to think of people's feelings – work came first for her, and she naively thought it came first for everyone else too. It was perhaps why she couldn't handle America too well; she always thought he was being completely serious when he presented his absurd plans. Though, perhaps he was, who knew what went on in that boy's mind?

"Sorry, just got a dose of déjà vu."

"I see," Monaco nodded, returning her attention to the whiteboard. After a moment longer she stopped again, and began shifting uncomfortably – clearly unsure whether to say something or not. France watched her in slight amusement before prompting her to just speak her mind. She adjusted her glasses and turned slightly. "Why didn't you just go with them?"

"England and America?"

"Yes."

Smiling softly, France shrugged. "My dear _Angleterre_ wouldn't appreciate me butting into his private time with America."

Monaco tilted her head to the side. "I wasn't aware they were an item."

"They aren't."

"Then why do they need 'private time'?"

Sighing, France stood up and grabbed his coat and bag. He shook his head and laughed at the confused expression Monaco wore. "Never mind. Are you free now?"

She looked immediately guilty. "Sorry, I have a pre-engagement."

"Oh?"

"Singapore, Vatican City and I are going out for dinner together."

"Ah, well, I'm sure you'll enjoy it! _Au revoir!"_


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: The chapters of this story will always come in pairs. The odd numbers are the main 'current' story line - the countries dealing with their relationships. The even numbers will be the 'deja vu' explanation (ie. a very similar situation happening to a group of high school students). Further explanation on why this happens will be explained in-story!_

_Chapter pairs may be quite similar, or start similar and end VERY different - depending on the characters' abilities to deal with their relationships as countries compared to humans. _

_Anyways, hope that sort of explains everything needed for now. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter Two:

It was clear by now that no one was even trying to make the discussion progress; especially when Alfred believed being the male earth-class representative gave him total control of all decisions. Really, everyone knew Camille – the female representative – was the only one of the pair who knew what she was talking about. But, of course, that meant nothing to the wannabe hero.

"Come on, guys! Yao can totally turn the classroom into a spaceship!"

"Why do I have to?"

"It's just the sort of thing you'd probably be good at, dude."

"Converting the whole room into an electronically functional spaceship is way out of our festival budget."

Francis sighed and rubbed his eyes. They were getting nowhere and taking too long doing it. The school festival was only two weeks away, and they _still _hadn't decided what they were going to do. "Camille, don't actually calculate the expenses for this idiot's daydreams," he warned her. She seemed much too busy arguing with Alfred over the ability to 'ignore the budget' to have heard him.

"Can we not hurry up? We were going to make pasta in cooking club today!"

"The clubs are on hold, right now, Feliciano. Don't think you can skip the class meeting."

"Ludwiiiig!"

"No. Sit still and… Hey! Stop drawing on my text book!"

These scenes repeated themselves every day at school. His own third year earth-class was tiresome enough, but when they had to meet up with the earth-classes from second and first year too for big events (school festivals, sports days etc.) Francis was surrounded by the bundle of crazy that were the earth-classes. Sitting at the back of the room gave him the chance to sweep his eyes across the room and take in the all-too familiar pictures.

Heracles was snoring, and Sadiq was trying to draw glasses on him. Kiku was drawing manga, which the other manga club members were helping with (or, in Im Yong Soo's case, reading). Roderich was trying to ignore Gilbert and Elizaveta throwing skittles at each other either side of him – or, naturally, ended up smacking both of them with his book. Antonio had had pulled his chair right up to Lovino's desk and attempted to talk to him; the younger student kept pushing him away with a new swear word each time.

Just the same scenes repeating.

Then there was the guy in the desk beside him. That's where Francis' eyes fell next; to the student council president sitting straight up in his chair and making notes on the notepad in front of him.

"Arthur?" Francis asked, leaning towards him.

Arthur frowned in response. "What is it, frog-face?"

"Your boyfriend is getting carried away again," Francis smirked, propping his chin up on his hand. "So what on earth could you be taking notes on? What your boyfriend should learn to behave like? Oh! Am I the model?"

Finally, the green eyes moved away from the page and glowered at him. "Like hell you'd be a model anything."

Francis felt the smirk drop a little bit. _That wasn't the part you were meant to deny. _He didn't say that out loud and instead settled for "You used to think so when we were younger."

Arthur grimaced.

"Ah, you were so cute back then! Chasing me around shouting 'I love you Francis! Marry me!'"

"Stop talking, you damn bastard!"

And, as it always did, their argument began to build. No one paid much attention; Francis and Arthur's verbal tennis match slipped in alongside the rest of the chaos that was the earth-class meeting. Ravis' terrified blubbing when Ivan kept patting his head, Ivan's terrified screams as Natalia hugged him from behind, the odd shout of protest from Peter who was trying desperately to be noticed, Mathias ordering his friends around, Oliver warning Romeo to stay away from Chloe. It was just the same.

Finally, Camille decided enough was enough and called for everyone to just go home.

Twenty minutes later, when Alfred decided enough was enough and called out louder that everyone should just head home, almost every student jumped out of their seats and hurried out. The school bell had rung long ago, and now even the clubs would be finishing; the irritation was clear on everyone's faces. Francis and Arthur were still stood yelling at one another, ignoring the rush of students passing by them. Most of their offences weren't that serious – the two knew each other too well to think the other actually meant what they said during times like this. When they were younger, one of them would almost always end up crying after one harsh comment too far; but now they were even on the school council together, they both knew where to end it.

"Yo, Arthur! You planning on leaving anytime soon?"

Alfred's voice immediately silenced Arthur, and Francis was somewhat annoyed that he hadn't been rebuked for his 'poison cooking' comment. Folding his arms, Arthur snorted as Alfred stepped closer to the two. "Of course," Arthur told him. "I already have to put up with this guy in the council room, anyway. Why would I want to linger his boring-ass any longer?"

"You can't talk, Mr. I-won't-join-any-clubs."

"I'm in a club!"

"Your fake Harry Potter club doesn't count."

"Don't you _dare_ bring Harry Potter into this."

Francis purposefully ignored Alfred's sighs – somewhat smug that Arthur was once again focused on him instead of the loud idiot. Sadly, Alfred wasn't one for waiting patiently.

"So… you wanna go grab a McDonalds or what?"

Arthur's eye's immediately lit up as he looked back at Alfred. Francis' smile dropped completely.

"Huh? Now?" England frowned, though it was faker than his usual ones. "Why do I have to go with you? I've got council work to finish."

"God dude, you can take a break for one evening! Do you know how long it's been since we hung out?"

_Not long enough, _Francis thought to himself as he watched the scene before him. Yet another oh-so-familiar scene: Alfred obliviously leading Arthur on, whilst Francis stood right there as if he didn't exist.

"Fine," Arthur finally said, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "I suppose I can spare a few hours to go with you." He wore this stupid smile as if Alfred should be eternally grateful. Not that the American would even notice it.

"Awesome! Let's go then!" Throwing his arm around Arthur's neck (who then shouted abuse at him), Alfred led them out of the room.

"What about our work, Arthur?" Francis called after them.

"You guys can do it later, yeesh!" Alfred answered on the student president's behalf. Unable to turn around with Alfred's arm around his shoulders, Arthur gave Francis a half-hearted wave of acknowledgement.

Sighing loudly as the two left, Francis leant against his desk, hands in his pockets and eyes glued to the spot they had been moments before.

"Francis?"

Looking across at Camille who stood cleaning the blackboard, Francis quickly brought a smile back on his face. "Yes?"

She placed down the eraser and picked up her jumper and bag, looking back up at Francis with a bland expression. "Please turn off the lights when you leave."

"Oh, sure thing, Camille!"

With nothing but a nod of her head, Camille headed out, leaving Francis to sit in silence.

Could love get any more difficult?


End file.
